


King

by slightlyrebelliouswriter



Category: The Folk of the Air - Holly Black
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, King - Freeform, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Public Sex, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Tail Kink, Tail Sex, Throne Sex, Vaginal Sex, jude is the high king of elfhame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:14:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26623501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyrebelliouswriter/pseuds/slightlyrebelliouswriter
Summary: Tail + Two + Throne = One helluva good time.
Relationships: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar
Comments: 24
Kudos: 193
Collections: Jurdan Week, favorite on TFOTA





	King

**Author's Note:**

> Written for (oh boy here we go):   
> -Jurdan Week, Day 1- Tail Kink  
> -Jurdan Smut Week, Day 4- Public/Risk Sex  
> -@whatafuckingbabe on Tumblr for donating to the Nationwide Bailfund for my Drabbles For Donations fundraiser. Thank you so much for donating!
> 
> AN: Big shoutout and love to @clockworkgraystairs and @sweetlyvillainous on Tumblr for beta’ing this for me, and for being my rocks, my north stars, my guiding lights through the process of writing this! I love you both more than words xxx

Jude is hungry.

There is a feast spread out before her; but not the fowl gleaming slick in honey, laced with rosemary; nor the pear and brie topped bruschetta; nor even the pomegranate mirror glaze cakes on the table in the Great Hall are enough to satiate her appetite.

Through the whole banquet, Cardan’s eyes are fixed on her. She can feel the pull of his dark gaze from the corner of her vision.

Jude, however, can seem only to focus on the dais, the throne sitting atop it. On how that tracery of roots and vines would feel scraping harsh against her knees as she straddled him. On how much she wouldn’t care.

Her mind is all torn fabric, the rush of heat and blood, the spring of sweat to slick her skin as their bare limbs slide together, over and over. Jagged pulls of breath and hair. And that ache— _oh, gods_ , that sweet ache—scrabbling higher, ever higher.

She wants his teeth, his tongue, the brush of his tail, his throbbing moans on her neck. She wants to gorge herself on him, the throne.

Jude is strung out on her reveries alone. Try as she might, she can’t stop them from coming to her mind’s eye. The heavy din of her heart thrums loud in her ears. Her nails dig into the cushion of the dining chair. She imagines it is Cardan’s back instead.

It’s wrong, she knows. To want him in such a public place, atop such a sacred seat. They cannot defile the throne the way Jude so desires.

It would be even more blasphemous than a mortal girl sleeping in the High King’s bed with him. A mortal girl married to the High King of Elfhame. A mortal Queen of Faerie, sitting on the throne, her King’s mouth between her thighs, tongue licking a hot stripe up her core again and again, flooding her in sensation so delicious—

“Jude?” Cardan asks and Jude blinks.

They are sitting at the same end of the long parade of decadence, a row of courtiers on either side like two preening table runners.

By this hour of the festivities, it was not so unusual for the High King to have excused himself from his end of the table to spend the rest of the evening at his wife’s side.

His presence calms her, but that doesn’t mean she’s paying attention to the latest courtly opera. The machinations of the Court never hold Jude’s attention for long. Especially when her mind is on things far more moreish.

From the way everyone in their circle of conversation looks at her now, Jude realises, rather belatedly, that she’s been asked a question.

Her ears warm. “I seem to have been lost in thought. What is it we were speaking of?”

She can feel the disapproving eyes from those around her, but she is not ashamed for the offense she has committed. She is High Queen, after all.

Rather, Jude blushes that she should be caught in the middle of her salacious reverie.

Her husband grins broadly, waving his bejeweled goblet in the air before him. “Apologies, Lady Laurel,” Cardan says, with all the magnanimity of a king smoothing out the jagged edges of his Court’s stares. “Sometimes I’m given to believe my wife is more enamored by the throne than by even me.”

There’s a tilt to her lips as she turns her gaze on him. Slowly.

The guests let out a few chuckles, placated. When Cardan laughs along with them, it reaches his eyes.

“From the way she’s looking at you now,” a goblin pipes from the other end of the table, “I would beg to differ, Your Majesty.”

Cardan turns to observe his wife’s doting expression. Jude watches his eyes scintillate as the realisation hits him.

None of them know her like he does. The way she looks at him is not a look of love. It is a reckoning.

A feather-light brush at her ankle curls a question around her calf. It is meant to be soothing. But it only stokes the fire in her belly.

The High King’s tail skims higher to her knee, her thigh.

Abruptly, Jude stands.

Conversation at their end of the table peters out. Great ink drop eyes peer up at her.

“This banquet is finished,” she decrees, voice booming through the hollow. “Leave us.”

There is a beat of silence.

Then, the scraping of chairs against the stone floor, bubbles of laughter and whispered murmurings begin as the High Queen’s orders are heeded by every guest in the Hall.

Jude doesn’t care. She is watching her husband’s face as it blanches so beautifully.

One by one they leave. And once everyone is gone, she turns on Cardan, who is still sitting in his dining chair, looking overly vigilant for a man who enjoys social gatherings.

Now, it is just the High King of Elfhame and his Queen.

She looks down at him again with that slanted smile. There is such lovely fear in his eyes. She holds out her hand and he takes it, a suppliant.

With one jut of her chin, Cardan stands. Caution staccatos his every move. Jude leads him away from the table, stopping short before the dais.

She lets go of his hand.

“You know,” she says, voice smoke-like and sultry, “I’ve always loved the way you look when you laugh in genuine. It does not happen often, but when it does, it is a sight to behold.”

Jude begins circling him. Her steps are slow, fencingly deliberate.

“You’re angry,” Cardan says. “Was it something I said?”

She can feel his nerves like the flutter of wings against her skin. She unbuttons one of the cuffs gathering the sleeves of her dress. His tail twitches.

“Now, what would give you that idea?” The other cuff.

His eyes follow her as she completes her circle around him. “If your only intention was flattery, I would tell you that you are far kinder than I deserve, and aim to laugh more often if it would please you,” Cardan tells her, “But I cannot imagine why mere compliments would require the immediate cessation of courtly merriments.”

“It _would_ please me,” Jude says, stopping in front of him. She splays her fingers, a golden spangle against his crimson doublet, and steps closer. “To see you laugh more often.”

As if in a trance, Cardan’s hands move to her waist. His tail lashes, whiplike and delicious behind him.

“I just wish it was not at my expense.” Jude pouts. She blinks up at him from under the eaves of her lashes.

“I can assure you, my love.” Cardan’s voice is hushed, wanting. “It was not my intention to offend you.” His hands slide lower.

“Your mouth. These hands. This tail.” Jude snatches the offending thing out of the air and runs her thumbnail down a short length of it. Cardan shudders. “They tease me.”

She lets go of his tail and turns away from him, heading with slow intention toward the dais. All the while, she makes short work at the twining cords around her waist.

“I have had quite enough of teasing,” Jude tells him. “I should like you to be very, _very_ serious. To give me what I desire in earnest.” She steps up onto the platform, and as she does so, unclasps the last of her stays.

“And what is it you desire, my love?”

It is a small thing to let her dress fall to a frothy chiffon puddle at her feet. Jude steps over the fabric and out of her heels, turning to face him with an oversweet smile. “Why, my throne, of course,” she says.

And with that, she plops herself down on one of the royal seats.

The way Cardan gazes at her is a divestment in itself. Now, the whole of her, robed in nothing but the crimson flush of her desire and the golden crown on her head, is sprawled out before him.

In the dim light of the Hall, Jude can make out the darkness of his eyes, blown wide and sinful.

And though the High Queen slouches, mimicking the insouciant air so often displayed by her husband, the only thing running through her mind, is how deeply, how recklessly she wants him.

With such a heady gaze on her, Jude’s indecent thoughts turn riotously vulgar. Her pulse is loud in her ears. She can scarcely keep the threads of herself together.

A beat passes. Then, Cardan is moving, stalking towards her, something pernicious glittering in the air between them.

When he reaches the throne, he leans over her, towering. Jude’s heart flies to her throat. He rests his palms flat on the arms of the chair on either side of her.

“That, my sweet villain,” he says, “Is _my_ throne.” He is so close, she can taste the golden nevermore of his breath.

Jude looks up at him, unflinching. “Take it back, then.”

The corner of Cardan’s mouth twitches and she can’t help the small thrill that races through her.

His coal-bright eyes scour her as he kneels, hands skimming down her thighs. Gooseflesh raises in the wake of his fingertips.

With an abrupt jerk, he parts her legs—and hums at what he sees there. The slickness of her appetite. Her thighs are wet with it.

Jude is glistening, ready and wholly exposed to him. To the throne room. The mere knowledge of it makes her heart beat double-time.

“You know,” Cardan murmurs, leaning forward and planting a soft kiss right above her knee. She lets out a small huff. “We did not lock the door.” His mouth moves a little higher on her opposite thigh, then dips down, ravishing.

Jude can't think of anything but the wretched swirling of his tongue across her overwarm skin. Up and up his lips skim, and when his nose is nearly touching her apex, he pauses. Looks up. “Anyone could enter.”

“I don’t care,” Jude breathes, trying not to give in to the urge to buck her hips. “Let them.”

Cardan smirks. “You’d let them see this?” He traces his thumb up her pink centre.

Her breath hitches. Jude swallows thickly as her husband teases her, presses down lightly on her aching nub. She digs her nails into the arm of the throne.

“And what about this?” Cardan’s voice thrums as he sweeps her legs up, bringing them to rest over his shoulders. Jude can feel the warmth of his breath against her sex. “Would you let them watch as I worship?”

Jude bites her lip hard. “Yes.” Her voice comes out strangled, surprising even herself with this answer. Jude has never been one for public displays of affection, much less public displays of intimacy.

Cardan, on the other hand, seems absolutely delighted by this, even if he knows it’s not totally true. Even if it’s something they both know she’s only saying in the moment.

The lie makes it that much more enticing.

Then, Cardan lowers his head, licking a slow, hot stripe up her core in response. The feel of it lures a gasp from her lungs. She’s clenching, desperate, around his tongue. And then he’s gone.

“You’d let them see your depravity, Jude?” Cardan says, lifting his head once more. His tongue brushes across his lips, savouring the sweet taste of her sin.

He’s barely touched her, but so deep is her lust that already, Jude is dizzy with it. Something comes to coil around her right leg. His tail—the tufted end trailing agonising strokes up her calf, around the back of her knee.

“Oh, _gods,”_ she moans.

Cardan grins. She wants to roll her eyes, but all she can manage to do is slump further, elbows now resting on the seat, giving her treacherous husband a better angle at which to taste her.

A starving man at a feast, Cardan wastes no time.

He shifts her hips, taking full advantage of that angle, and dives back in with a fervor. Each flick of his tongue drives her wild.

Jude rarely lowers herself to whimpering, but she surely feels like it now. With her bare legs digging into her husband’s back, his face buried between her thighs, she would do anything to reach that high.

She is sitting on his throne speared on his tongue, in a room that, until very recently, was filled with members of their Court.

And Cardan is on his irreverent knees—worshipping.

That talented tongue is devious, too. It laps at all the right edges. Carves her drunk and witless.

It is all too fast, though. Too quick.

Soon Jude is shooting over the edge, gasping for air. There is nothing she can do but cling to him as she keens, her legs a vice grip on his shoulder blades, her hands pulling at his hair until she’s all spooled out over him.

When she’s finally settled, Cardan lifts his head from between her legs, his mouth gleaming. “Unholy,” he says, licking his lips slow.

A growl rolls past her teeth. That mouth. That beautiful, ruinous mouth.

Jude sits up and leans forward, legs sliding to the floor again. She crooks her finger under Cardan’s chin and tilts his face. 

There’s a lightness in his eyes, cavorting. He's teasing her. The quickness of her climax, one which he intentionally and swiftly wrought, left Jude desperate, bereft on the shores of her desire. And he knows it.

Her only solace is the hungry look in his eyes, telling her he is far from finished.

“The question is, dear husband,” she says, “Would you let them see you prostrated before me?”

"I would," he says, "Gladly."

Their mouths slide together and Jude tastes the bitter tang of herself on his tongue.

Then, she's got a fistful of his collar. She guides him up until she's kneeling on the throne. He stands, eyes roaming her flushed face, hands roving the fullness of her curves.

Without warning, he turns her so she’s facing the back of the throne, the great wall of snarled roots looming above them.

Cardan is looming behind her, his mouth on the column of her neck. He leaves hydrangea kisses there, and Jude must grab a protruding branch to steady herself.

Surrounding her is the heady smell of loam and packed earth and him. His lithe frame pressed warm against her back. His tongue and teeth hot on her skin. She can feel the strain of him, a bulge beneath his trousers.

But Cardan pays himself no mind. He slides one hand around her waist, right to the apex of her thighs and begins spinning lazy circles over that bundle of nerves.

His other hand goes to the underside of her left breast, palming it.

Jude stifles a groan. She can hardly think past the lust addling her mind.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" Cardan hums against her ear. "My veneration." Thumb still kneading, he pushes a finger past her folds, diving deep inside her. "My absolute devotion."

He punctuates the movement with a curl of his finger so exquisite, it earns a sigh from Jude.

She feels heat creep into her cheeks. The steady drag of his finger as he moves in and out of her, unhurried, is enough to make her sweat.

"Well, wife," Cardan hums, pushing another finger past her folds. Jude bites her lip to keep quiet. "You have it."

Cardan picks up a rhythm, working her slow and thorough.

There's a delightful throbbing in her core, building with his pace so she can almost grasp it, almost taste it on her tongue, when suddenly, the rhythm ebbs.

A whine escapes her before she can stop it.

“What are you doing?” she rasps, gripping the root in front of her as if she might tear apart the entire brugh in carnal frustration.

Her husband stills, knuckle-deep inside her. His grip on her tightens, palm pressing flush against the apex of her thighs.

Jude squirms in his arms, seeking relief, but Cardan won’t give it to her. He holds her steadfast and rumbles against her neck, “I am taking my sweet time with you.”

Jude’s eyes widen. His words strike a jolt of white heat through her.

“Is that alright with you, my deep divine?”

Jude is trembling, now. Quaking on the edge of this wire he keeps her on. A strangled, “Yes,” is all she can muster.

He presses a tender kiss to her shoulder. After a moment, he’s moving again. At first, slow and shallow, but soon, adding a third finger.

The edges of her cry are frayed by desire. Cardan quickens his pace, steadily building to the same fervor. She arches at the sweet ache he draws forth with every pump and stroke of his fingers, with the circling of his thumb against her clit.

His palm spreads gingerly against her left breast, cupping the swell of it until it’s heavy, honing her lust further. He rolls the peak of her nipple between his thumb and forefinger until it is pebbled. A soft mewl falls from Jude’s lips.

The little huffs of breath from Cardan as she grinds back into him spur Jude closer toward that edge. Her knuckles are white around this root she holds.

Suddenly, his movements stop. His hands leave her, and Jude lets out a sound of protest.

_No, no, no!_ She’d been so close, and now, the precipice she’d been barreling towards dissolves away like smoke through the ribs of her fingers.

A chuckle comes from behind her. “Did no one ever teach you patience, my queen?”

Jude scowls at the wall. “There’s patience and then there’s accepting cruel torment.” She hears shuffling. Something unbuckling.

“Is that what this is?”

Her heartbeat is a melee. Her head is swimming, a riptide of anticipation.

The sureness of Cardan’s hands return to her hips. Only this time, she feels the stiff length of him, brash and bare against her. He teases her entrance. Jude draws a sharp breath, but he doesn’t push into her as she expects.

He leans forward so his cock slides up her backside, toward her spine. “Do I torment you, Jude?” Cardan murmurs against the back of her neck.

She squirms against him, but it’s no use. There is nothing to relieve her.

That’s when she feels the brush of his tail up the sensitive skin of her thigh. Jude tugs her lip between her teeth.

A desperate, heady idea creeps into her mind. Jude can hardly believe her own boldness as she grabs hold of the wandering tail, guiding it right where she needs it. She hears Cardan’s breath falter—this is sensitive territory she is breaching.

Slowly, Jude begins moving against his tail, grinding herself onto the smooth length of it. Her husband goes utterly still behind her, but he grips her waist encouragingly, urging her movements with hands that now quiver in want.

Back and forth, Jude gives herself that friction he’s denied her. She grips the tangle of roots that make up the wall of the throne and listens to the panting sounds her husband makes as she uses him howsoever she pleases.

And Jude is very pleased. She grows slicker by the second, that covetous tendril of heat beginning again, deep in her belly.

She turns her head to catch a glimpse of him. Cardan’s face is blooming and spellbound over her shoulder. Vulnerable. She wants to taste it. His vulnerability.

With one hand she reaches back and brings his face to hers.

When their lips collide, Jude feels that same rush of adrenaline she once did those many moons ago when she held him at knifepoint.

Now, Cardan’s mouth is redolent of faerie wine and teeth and unfettered longing. His tongue takes her mouth by force, sweeping in greedily.

She can taste the danger of his desire, the moan that rolls up his throat as she continues moving on his tail. She can taste the knowledge of the public nature of their display and how much he doesn’t care.

She doesn’t care either.

They are both gasping, reeling. Fraught by the tension pulled tight between them. She tugs his bottom lip harshly between her teeth, and he shivers.

But Jude feels her momentum plateauing. It’s not quite enough, this relief—it won’t sate either of their hungers.

In a matter of a moment, Jude spins around, grabs the back of Cardan’s neck, and pins him to the throne below them.

She climbs over him, heart racing. He pulls her down so she is straddling his lap. When he looks at her, his dark eyes feast on her flesh, a ravening.

“You think,” the High Queen says, tracing a fingernail across the sharpness of his jawline, “That I love the throne more than you?” She continues her trail down his neck, right over the jugular vein, and feels him throb beneath her.

Jude smirks.

“I said I had reason to believe it.” Cardan’s voice is strained. “Not that I did.”

“And what would that reason be?” Jude asks, feigned confusion puckering her brow. “Was it my inappropriate daydreaming? My wandering eyes?”

His face is frozen, rapturous looking up at her. Her nail skitters down his bare chest.

“Do you wish to know what I think about when I gaze upon the throne?”

Cardan swallows hard. Gives a shallow nod of his head.

The High Queen of Elfhame leans in close so their cheeks brush. “I think about this,” she whispers against his ear. “You. My darkest daydream is making a throne out of you.”

Her husband curses, his resolve coming undone before her.

It’s as easy as breathing to sink down onto him. In one aching motion, Jude fills herself with him, his love, to the brim.

Cardan hisses through his teeth as he bottoms out. He clings to her, splaying his hands across her spine, her shoulder blades, clambering to keep himself in check. “ _Jude_ ,” he gasps.

Jude does not respond. She merely swivels her hips once in response. Like this, she can feel the bulge of him, buried to unplumbed depths. A low, throaty sound tumbles past his lips, and Jude hums.

Her hands find his hair and she begins to move in earnest, a tantalising dance. She wants to feel the full drag of him, in and out and in again.

Cardan’s hands ghost her waist, as if his touch might shake him from some fever dream. He watches their joining with fixed eyes and beatifically parted lips. It’s an intoxicating sight to behold.

Jude writhes on his length, faster and faster, an endless sea of sensation.

It is just as she imagined. Better, even. Devouring him—here. Taking her fill again and again on the royal seat, in perfect desecration.

She can’t quite believe their daring.

They hold revels here, host banquets and formal gatherings. Many have seen the High King and Queen sitting upon their throne. But not like this.

Not with Jude bouncing up and down on her husband’s cock, riding sweet bruises into the dips of his hips. The throne room echoes with their laboured breathing, with the slap of sweat-slicked skin.

This all with him at her mercy.

Jude smiles wickedly. Her blood becomes a frenzy in her veins as she grips his shoulders, and continues moving at a brutal pace.

In the flurry of her excitement, Cardan begins bucking up, meeting her wildly thrust for thrust. The hall now rife with the slopping sounds of their arousal.

“Gods above, Jude,” he grunts. “You’re magnificent.”

She throws her head back in this, their rollicking bliss. The dizzying feeling of being wholly sundered.

“Wondrous,” he tells her, his mouth at her throat. He nips and sucks, tongue swiping at the sensitive skin there.

Jude can’t contain her moan. The sound of it joins the other lewd sounds in the room.

“Scrumptious,” Cardan rumbles into her shoulder. She whines, gripping the hair at the nape of his neck.

Everything is fast and slow at once. She can barely catch her breath for how good this feels, how close she is. It’s almost unbearable.

They are moving in tandem now, seeking that precipice together, her husband’s fingers a bruising grip on her hips.

One of his hands slides into the untamed mess of her hair. Cardan angles her head to look at him.

He is distressingly beautiful, and though Jude has claimed him on his throne, her heart aches to look at him. His pupils are full as moons and dark as belladonna. There’s a sharpness to his features that speaks to his cravings.

“Scream for me, Jude,” he says, his breath pulling through him in jagged drags. “I want the whole brugh to know what you’ve made of me.”

A tremble rakes through her.

Jude nods, and renews her efforts, riding him for all she’s worth.

Between the thrust of his length, hitting that sweet spot again and again, Cardan’s hands and mouth starting fires on her skin, it’s not long before her orgasm comes careening into her.

Jude cries out, the bliss of release unbridled and yawning before her.

Of all the obscenities in the world, his name is the only one on her lips. She yells it as he pounds into her again and again, as her high stretches on and on.

Cardan slams into her one last time before spilling over the edge in a slew of shouted curses. She shakes and clenches around him, their desire commingling.

Collapsing onto him, Jude leans her heavy head against her husband’s chest. His heartbeat is frenetic. She can hear it as he strokes her back, runs his fingers in soothing lines down her spine.

They are both still spinning, floating back to earth in parachutes.

She leans back so she might see him. His expression is dazed but he still manages a grin that stuns Jude to silence.

“If I am your throne,” Cardan says, a little breathless, “Then you must be my king.”

Her answering smile is depraved. He bites it.

♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Hoooollllyyyy smokes, this has been a LONG time coming (pun only intended if you want it). A week ago, I thought I was completely stuck with this fic, but yesterday I woke up with the vengeance of god at my fingertips. I really hope you enjoyed reading! If you did, comments are highly, highly appreciated. It may take me a little bit but I WILL respond to every single one—they truly make my day. 
> 
> Again, a massive thank you to @whatafuckingbabe on Tumblr for donating to the National Bail Fund in support of this fic. You rock, babes!
> 
> I am @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 on Tumblr- I post all my works and more on there.
> 
> Back to the forest now.  
> -Em 🖤💫
> 
> Title Inspo: King by Niykee Heaton


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